Syrian army soldiers inspect the damage in Krac des Chevaliers, the famous Crusader castle in Homs, on March, 21, 2014. / EPA

by Jabeen Bhatti, Special for USA TODAY

by Jabeen Bhatti, Special for USA TODAY

A lifetime ago, I went to Syria as a tourist. I burned to see the ruins of Palmyra, home to Queen Zenobia, who defied mighty Rome in the third century A.D. I wanted to wander the ancient medinas of Aleppo and Damascus and climb the ramparts of the Krac des Chevaliers, the world's most sublime crusader castle â?? near Homs.

On that trip, Homs was an afterthought, a transit point to get to the castle. Along the way, some local children became interested in two young tourists and decided to play guide. We wandered around the deserted castle with them, and afterward, they showed us Homs, introduced us to tasty street snacks and took us home to their moms, who fed us and offered us beds.

We hadn't planned to stay in Homs but were so charmed we did.

Years later, in 2011, I began to cover the revolutions that came to be collectively known as the "Arab Spring" â?? in Tunisia, Egypt, Yemen, Libya and, of course, Syria.

Syria, of all of them, has been the toughest â?? both to cover and to watch. We have had journalists inside the country and often supplemented their reporting by calling into Syria, For three years, we talked to people on the ground in Homs, a rebel stronghold in the battle against President Bashar Assad.

We watched neighborhoods there slowly disappear as people escaped or died in the onslaught by regime forces. Old Homs held out for the rebels, but barely. Forget heat or electricity, food and water became a daily struggle. Then earlier this month, the rebels and the government agreed on a truce â?? the rebels would leave the quarter for areas in the north. In exchange, they would allow humanitarian aid into some of the territory they hold and free prisoners.

A few days later, as former residents returned to the quarter, they were stunned to find a level of destruction they could not have imagined. Their neighborhood had been reduced to rubble, craters, shells of structures.

No one is coming back, they told us, believed they could stay there or would be living there anytime soon.

More shocking was the presence of a government tourism official assessing the damage, trying to determine how many hotels were still open, which ones could be salvaged, planning for the future of Homs as a tourist destination.

I call that delusional.

Forget that few airlines fly to Syria anymore from the West. The tourists from the Persian Gulf abandoned the country years ago. Even war-hardened Iraqis shun the beaches of Latakia.

And when some intrepid tourist wants to go, what will they find? The renowned medina of Aleppo is in ruins. Homs is rubble, and even the Krac des Chevaliers, perched high on a hill, a structure built to withstand attacks including one by famed warrior Saladin nine centuries ago, has not escaped the war. It has been damaged by airstrikes and artillery.

These days, I have a hard time reconciling the city I wandered many years ago with what it is now. At Christmas, I heard from my my travel companion back then:

"I see you have written articles on the Syrian conflict," he wrote, "I have thought of those families we met there in our travels all those years ago quite often lately. I guess they have all been caught up in the conflict one way or another unfortunately."

I have thought about them, too, even as I tried not to. I don't know where they are now, but I know where I hope they aren't: Homs.